Statistical Improbabilities
by The Readers Muse
Summary: He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it. Biologically speaking, it was nearly impossible for a healthy, red-blooded American male not to. But in his case, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he'd never experienced any pressing need to put the ultimate expression of human sexuality to the test.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in during the latter half of season three, episode: _"I aint a Judas"._ Specifically after Andrea and Milton chopped off the arms and smashed out the teeth of that walker she used as protection on her journey to the prison but before they came across Tyresse's group in the forest. * Inspired but the following prompt on the kink meme: Milton/Andrea - First time_: "He always meant to get around to having sex; more to just have the experience, really, connect the sensations with the physiological changes a healthy male should go through when getting aroused, but he just never got the chance. Until Andrea. - Bonus points if it's sometime during their little pet-walker making adventure together_."

**Warnings:** Contains season three spoilers, references to Milton's background, adult language, possible consent issues, and mature content. And well, smut.

**Statistical Improbabilities**

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it. Biologically speaking, it was nearly impossible for a healthy, red-blooded American male _not_ to. But in his case, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he'd never experienced any pressing need to put the ultimate expression of human sexuality to the test.

Not in the physical sense at least.

But still, the desire for the experience, purely for comparison of course, had always been there, stalled and uncertain in the back of his mind. He'd always figured he'd get around to it sooner or later. Just not now, not like this.

Either way, that lack of experience was probably why he'd completely missed the signs. He realized this just a few hours too late, recognizing the exact moment when Andrea had finally given up on patience, backed him right into a tree and basically declared a full out_ blitzkrieg_ on his lips.

But then, he supposed he was getting ahead of himself.

After they'd removed the biter's teeth, the rest of the process had been relatively easy. Andrea had been fearless, her movements natural and smooth where his were hesitant and unpracticed. There was pride there, too. Not on his side, but on hers. It was the kind that was self-assured because it had been hard-earned and had likely come at a price. The kind that spoke of desperation and anger, emotions which had been twisted together to form a new whole, until each kill echoed out more like restitution or some twisted sense of release than strictly necessity.

She approached the biters differently than he did, only natural considering their conflicting ideologies. She viewed them as either tools or obstacles - black or white with no grey area in-between. In her mind they were something to be dealt with quickly and efficiently, without such things as remorse or pity. And while he didn't share it, he certainly understood it, the survivor mentality. After all, she'd _lived _it. Meanwhile, he still believed that there was something in them that could be saved or at least harnessed and used for good. When he looked at them, he saw them as _who_ they'd been rather than _what_ they were now. Whereas Andrea only saw the monster, the creatures that went bump in the night.

He wasn't ready to give up on an entire generation of humanity just because of outward appearances - especially considering what he'd observed so far. Because he'd witnessed them, those awkward little glimmers of humanity. Like the occasional use of a tool or that strange, unnecessary pause that sometimes occurs as they approach you - something akin to recognition or regret, something _human_. He was convinced that something of the person remained. He just had to tap into it and coax it out into the light. _…Somehow._

Or perhaps Merle had been right after all; maybe he _had _been spending too much time in the lab.

He wiped his hands fastidiously, momentarily torn on whether to put the filthy handkerchief back in his breast pocket or just discard it. He eyed the bloody smears distastefully, eventually wincing and trying to put it out of his mind as he tucked it into his trouser pocket. He'd disinfect them both later.

He watched with detached interest as Andrea wrestled the biter towards a nearby tree. The stumps of its arms waved rather impotently as she lassoed it by the neck and tied it to the sturdy willow on the other side of the clearing.

…_Interesting. _

His fingers itched with the desire to write it all down as Andrea made her way back across the clearing, eventually having to settle with making a mental note of the biter's behavior as she bent down and collected the machete. She paused to check the sharpness of the blade against the sole of her boot before nodding and wiping it across the trunk of a weedy looking oak. Nose crinkling as the blood, half coagulated and rancid, stuck to the bark in awkward lumps of dirt-encrusted gore until the blade glinted clean in the low light.

But he barely noticed. Hell, he was already writing the outline of the afternoon's excursion in the back of his mind. It was an important observation after all, one that deserved further research and experimentation at the very least. This could be a breakthrough in developing a base-line for their behavior. Perhaps even a rough determination of the point where instinct and learned behavior branch off into conscious thought and personal awareness.

'_The subject clearly has no awareness of its recent handicap. No outward reaction to either its recent dismemberment and the removal it's incisors. Must explore the possibility of sensory memory versus instinctual memory at a later date. Outwardly, its behavior indicates that-'_

But he was cut off when Andrea leaned forward unexpectedly, small palm curling around his shoulder as she balanced on one foot and tugged off her boot. She caught him off guard as the flush of her hip bumped against his, hopping about with an endearing wiggle and an awkward sort of grace as she balanced herself against him, shaking the rocks out of her boot before slipping it back on. Her fingers lingered just a second too long as they slid down the length of his lapels, grazing across the dips of his collarbone in a way that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle, skin suddenly alive with static and warmth as she left red marks across the span of his chest – like tire tracks on a worn dirt road.

Slightly bemused, he adjusted his glasses and sent her a small smile. The actions and antics of women were largely a mystery to him, as they were to any man, he supposed. He tried to put it out of his mind - deciding to chalk it up to stress and personal quirks as he shook himself and took stock of their surroundings.

"Is that all you needed?" He asked, distracted despite her closeness as the walker snapped its jaws ineffectually in their direction. Its milky eyes rolled up in its head as it tugged just a bit too hard on the ropes and thudded back against the tree in a way that would have been amusing if it hadn't been so horrible.

Uncomfortably pathetic also came to mind now that he thought about it.

"Not quite," she purred. It sounded ridiculous to admit it, but it sounded like something you'd be more likely to hear during the climax of some superfluous Hollywood romance. Only there was no other way to describe it. Because somewhere along the line her tone_ had_ gone deep, sensuous and appealing in a way that it nearly caused his brain to misfire, thoughts peeling off like geese migrating south as his head snapped up so fast he swore he left half his face behind in the process.

The tips of his ears grew warm as he blinked into the stillness. Trying and failing to fight off a heady dose of confusion and discomfort when he realized she hadn't moved away. _What did she mean by 'not quite?' _

He took a pointed step backwards when she flipped her hair and smiled, twirling one of her curls between her thumb and index finger as she cocked her head and grinned. Almost as if she found his nervousness amusing as she invaded his personal space with barely a pause. Full hips swaying almost hypnotically as she advanced a few worrisome inches closer.

_Did she really have to stand so close?_

He rewound their entire conversation in his mind's eye, desperate for some sort of clue that would explain her strange behavior. Looking for something, _anything_ that would make all this make sense. Had he inadvertently offended her? _Jesus, what had he said now? _Whatever it was, it had to be bad. Bad enough to explain the reason why she was looking at him like she was sizing him up - taking him in from parted hair to dirty cuffs in a way that made him feel more like a prized steer up for auction than he was particularly comfortable with.

He took another step backwards, mouth opening then closing again as he struggled to put his thoughts into words. He lost his train of thought completely when she simply followed him, matching his steps with her own as the muted hush of his boots flared out into the stillness like _surrender_.

And all the while, that same, smug little smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Mysterious and elusive as his eyes darted across her face, just a few emotions shy of pleading when his search revealed nothing. He didn't understand. He didn't have a baseline. Why was she being so-

_Action, reaction, causation – hell, it was basic chemistry. But why?_

The entire thing made him feel as though he'd just been thrown into a brutal game of cat and mouse but with no idea of how or even why he was there in the first place. _It just didn't make sense._

"Andrea, what do you think you're…I-I mean, what are yo-"

But he didn't get a chance to finish because suddenly, in less time than it took for him to process what had just happened, his back met with the broad side of the old maple that crowned the edge of the clearing. His center of gravity tilted, causing him to stumble backwards and lose his footing, boot heels struggling to find traction in the hard, Georgian clay as his knuckles scored painfully across the unforgiving bark.

And with barely a pause, she was on him in less than five seconds flat.

Almost as if she'd known all along, and the metaphor of leading a bull around by its horns took on a whole new meaning.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This is the second story I have written for the pairing, so feedback would be much appreciated! The next part should be ready in a few days.

"_The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other." ―_ Victor Hugo.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in during the latter half of season three, episode:_ "I aint a Judas."_ Specifically after Andrea and Milton chopped off the arms of the walker she used as protection on her journey to the prison - but before they came across Tyresse's group in the forest.

**Warnings:** Contains season three spoilers, references to Milton's background, adult language, possible consent issues, and mature content. And well, smut.

**Statistical Improbabilities**

_**Chapter Two**_

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but whatever it was, _this_ certainly wasn't it. Because before he could process it, her hands were suddenly threading through his hair, nails scoring across his scalp in a way he didn't even know he liked as his head tipped back. His skin pale and straining as he inadvertently exposed the vulnerable arc of his throat, caught off guard as she seized the advantage and sunk her teeth into his neck.

_Christ! What-_

His muscles seized. Half a heart attack away from either coming or fainting on the spot as a confusing barrage of sensation hit him like a thirty-car pileup. The world exploded behind his lids and his hands tightened around her forearms, shaking and trembling as she worried the patch of skin just below his left ear.

He couldn't help it. He _keened_. The sound was garbled and embarrassingly high as equal shares of mortification and confusion filtered through him like water through a sieve.

He wasn't sure what to make of it when her fingers scratched across his scalp, sending goose pimples hushing across his skin. He swallowed hard when her mouth returned to his neck, thrilling and discomforting in a way that eluded explanation as her teeth grazed across his throat.

Distantly, a part of him balked. Because considering the circumstances, he figured he had no business getting _aroused _by the sensation of teeth sinking into his skin. He shouldn't want it or suddenly crave it. Only he did, perversion or not. He just couldn't help it.

Either way, the irony of the situation certainly hadn't escaped him.

Still, he couldn't deny that it _didn't_ make him squirm as the sensation went all the way down his cock. Toes curling as he tilted his head, unthinkingly giving her better access as she smirked into his skin and obliged. It was almost as if there was some sort of direct line from his neck to his groin, something to do with pleasure centers and endorphins that made him want to-

_Jesus, she must think he was easy…_

Any distance left between them was made moot when her hips firmed against his. A belt buckle dug into his skin as her warmth rubbed across his groin. And once again, just like that, he was gone - lost to everything else but that _exquisite_ pressure as warning flares shot off behind his eyes. His thoughts stalled. Analytical observations turned into half formed expletives as his body registered the stimulus and responded, stirring without his consent as she ground herself against him.

A wordless blurb of sound slipped from his throat as his hips rolled up to meet her. The action automatic and instinctual as her gaze sharpened and she started whispering - muttering _filthy_, impossible things in his ears as she licked a stripe up the side of his neck. All blinding white teeth and upturned lips as she grinned and did it _again_.

_Oh, well, okay then._

He gasped. His pulse raced as he tried to keep track of her. He'd barely managed to figure out where her fingers were and what they were doing before they suddenly moved on, roaming across his body with an aimlessness that made the scientist in him nearly _rabid_. She was an enigma, impossible to pin down and predict as she tore through him like a whirlwind. It seemed as though she was doing her best to drive_ everything_ from him, thought, breath, higher brain function, you name it.

_Was it supposed to be like this? Where everything was breathless and unsure? Where you weren't sure if you were dying or finally living all at the same time? Was he even doing this right? How did people function like this?! How could he even begin to-_

His head snapped up when her hands suddenly framed his face. The action was gentle and deliberate, so different from before that the change of pace nearly gave him whip-lash. A gasp of air hissed between his teeth when her thumb rubbed across his cheek, rasping through a tiny patch of stubble he'd obviously missed that morning. Her movements sweet and syrupy as her hands trailed down his face like she was learning it, tracing his features from temple to chin before she leaned in and brought their lips together.

All he had time to register was her warm breath gusting across his cheek before her tongue suddenly pushed past his lips – predatory and frightening as the feeling of someone else's lips sliding against his sent his senses_ reeling_. There was no softness or finesse to the kiss, just desperation as she skipped from beginners to extreme long before he'd even registered the switch.

He didn't know where to put his hands as she nibbled at his lower lip. Hell, he'd even caught himself in the act of angling towards the curve of her hips as she coaxed him out with that slick glide. And honestly, he couldn't help it; he leaned forward to meet her. He didn't know if it was instinctual or biological, something programmed into the pattern of male arousal – something keyed towards the perusal of a potential mate or– hell, deep down, maybe he'd even _wanted _to; either way, from one moment to the next he found himself responding. Exchanging kisses like he was handling a jar of caustic chemicals as his lips began to do some exploring of their own.

He only had a few seconds to get used to it. Responding slowly, too slowly, as their tongues curled together - sloppy, spit-slick and awkward as he marveled on the slide, on the strange parallel that existed between the sharpness of her teeth and the unbelievable softness of her palette before she was suddenly pulling away again.

Caught off guard, he hiccuped into her lips.

The sound felt awkward and juvenile as their foreheads rested together, lips inches apart as they fought to catch their breaths. The pause was strange, muted and hushed as her breasts heaved against his chest, mirroring the rhythmic throb of her heart as she pressed herself against him. His throat fluttered through a hard swallow as she looked down at him and grinned - self-satisfied and hungry as she bared her teeth into the stillness.

And despite the fact that he'd nearly ground his back clear through the tree trunk by this point, boots sinking deep into the soil in an instinctual effort to put some space between them, he already had a hundred and one questions. Namely why, why now? Why here? And more importantly, why _him_?

Only thing was, she didn't seem inclined to answer any of them.

In fact, before he could figure out what was happening, she was struggling with his vest. Cursing the stiff, duct taped sleeves as she yanked his arms backwards, shoulder's screaming at the strain until his arms grudgingly slipped free - very nearly taking the rest of him with it as he lost his balance and thudded back against the uneven bark.

A stray button pinged off behind her as she made short work of his button-up. Something which reminded him by default that he should probably have veto power as far as his body was concerned when she muffled his protests with a gentle nip, shushing his half-garbled attempt at words with a brutal kiss.

It wasn't until she'd gotten halfway through that she started ripping more than she unbuttoned. She ignored him completely as he wheeled his arms backwards, trying and failing to find some sort of purchase against gravity as she pressed her advantage and slotted her hips against his.

He was about to protest when she left his shirt hanging open, revealing only his thin blue undershirt and more skin than he was strictly comfortable with, but stopped dead when she leaned backwards. Spine arching as she unbuttoned her blouse, gathering her filthy white shirt up by the hem and pulling it up over her head.

_Oh-_

She threw the garment behind her with a careless flourish, oblivious to the sudden slackness of his lips as her breasts brushed against his arm. His skin prickled as he took her in, eyes flicking from the dainty black lace to the barely there straps as she suddenly leaned forward. His nerve endings were all but electric as she yanked his undershirt up and over his head, leaving him naked from the waist up, bare back rasping across the bark as he blinked stupidly. Still trying to figure how everything had gotten so out of hand as the muscles in his chest jumped underneath his skin, all freckle-flecked and starkly toned when set against the generous swell of her breasts.

He was going to- _no_ this was a dream! It had to be. It was the only thing that made sense. He was back in his bed, caught in the grips of some sort of lurid wet dream brought on by stress and latent attraction.

Because this couldn't be happening, this wasn't how he'd pictured it. This wasn't how he'd wanted it go when he'd actually spared the time to think about it. He'd had it all planned out, and it was _nothing _like this. There were no well-meant overtures or passionate verbalizations. Just raw, unadulterated need that made him feel like he was about to-

The silver sheen of his discarded sleeves glinted in the low light, the muted sun of a full blown Indian summer filtering through the forest canopy above them. It wasn't until her elbow knocked against his glasses that he realized he was still wearing them. And in spite of everything that was going on, it didn't escape his notice that they were utterly filthy, speckled with dirt and condensation until he realized he was actually looking out at the world through a mish-mash of smeared glass and unfocused light.

He fought against the impulse to remove them completely, a habit that had been well formed through decades of practice. But he was torn. He didn't want to remove his grip on her arms, half afraid of what she might do if given free rein even as her loose ponytail smacked him clear across the face.

Her nails scored across his skin, sending twin jolts of pain and pleasure scorching through him like wildfire on the plains. Inclusive and unstoppable as her tongue tangled with his, swiping across the underside of his chin and scraping across his stubble as the muscles in his thighs quaked, seizing with the effort of keeping them both upright as she trailed kisses down the curve of his collarbone.

_Was this normal? Were they even doing this right? Wait- was there even a right or wrong way to…well, do this?_

There didn't seem to be enough time to breathe, let alone think as she dug her fingers into his hair and _pulled_ – lips mashing against his with a desperation that made her miss her mark and pepper his cheek with eager, open-mouthed kisses.

It was around this point that his legs finally gave out, crumpling underneath him and sending them sprawling to the forest floor in a jumbled heap of scattered limbs and tangled clothes as her amused laughter filtered through the quiet.

When he'd considered what the experience might be like in the past, he'd planned on putting the entire affair under the microscope. He recalled grand plans about remembering every detail. With every nuance, cheap thrill and reaction to be written down and dissected later.

Only in reality, there was no time. Everything was happening too fast and he didn't know how to keep track of it. Hell, his heart was beating so loud he swore that if it wasn't for the fact that his body wasn't in the habit of coming apart at the seams it would have beaten right out of his god damned chest.

"You're over thinking this, Milton," she gasped, straddling his thighs as she positioned herself above him. Blond hair framing her face in a fuzzy halo of sweat slicked temples and rumpled curls as she steadied herself against his shoulder.

"You know what the trick is? _Don't_," she hummed.

"D-Don't what?" He gasped, struggling to spit the words out as his fingers clenched around a handful of dirt and crumbling leaves, anything to keep himself grounded as her fingers began inching towards his belt buckle. He wasn't sure _where_ the words had come from, but he was almost pathetically grateful that he'd managed what he had.

"_Think_," she insisted, ending his stammering with a fiery kiss as his head thumped back against the bark, fingers involuntarily tangling in her belt loops as their hips ground together. The friction sent sparks of pleasure zipping down his spine as his hips rose up to meet her. Their movements eager and rough in a way he knew he'd probably regret later as the unforgiving trunk dug deep into the grooves of his back.

But internally, some long muted and far more logical portion of his brain spluttered. _Stop thinking? He could no sooner willingly stop breathing or forget basic chemistry!_ _How she expected him to stop thinking was completely beyond him seeing as though-_

But that train of thought and wherever he'd been planning on taking it was inevitably ruined when her hand skimmed down the length of his chest and stroked his bulge, taking him in from cock to balls under the material of his trousers as he nearly choked on his own god damned tongue.

_Ah…_

He tried to suck in a breath, but all he got was a stuttering mouthful of blonde hair and fading perfume. Because he'd suddenly realized that he was in way over his head - the learning curve was a dead-drop and he was on the receiving end, barely able to keep up as she moved above him, confident and sure as he started to drown on dry land.

It was like everything had suddenly caught up with him all at once, leaving him overwhelmed and uncertain as a rash of sweat rolled off his skin. Chest straining as the air suddenly grew thin and everything devolved into panic and impossibility and everything he knew about the world and how it worked - how it came together and co-existed with every scientific parable and immutable law - came down like dominoes around him.

His head swam. Her hands brushed down the length of his thigh and suddenly, he was burning. There was a wildfire burning underneath his skin. Flushing him out like a flock of startled birds as smoke rose up in his mind's eye. He tried to scream but he had no words. Not now. Not when his very cells were drying up and flaking, petering off into dust and ash as the rest of his body remained untouched. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what was happening-

His fingers dug into the parched soil, desperate for some sort of handhold as the world around him dipped and swayed, fuzzing out at the edges as her hands skimmed across his belt buckle, teasing and infuriating all at the same time as he tried to squirm away.

He didn't have the necessary data. He didn't-

It was only when a worrisome tinge of static started creeping across the edge of his vision that he realized he was probably having a panic attack.

'_Gee, what a day for firsts, Mamet. Way to give it a hundred percent,'_ a snide voice remarked, sounding distant yet distinctly peeved as he floundered, fisting the long grass as he struggled to bring air into his lungs.

But something of what he was feeling must have showed on his face because it was only when he choked in a vain effort to suck in the air he so desperately needed that she suddenly stilled. Hands slackening across the span of his shoulders as her fingers scratched gently through his hair. Eyes kind and uncomprehending as she leaned back to give him the space he needed, frown-lines deepening as he dropped back against the tree and tried to remember how to breathe.

And a few beats later, when something horribly similar to that of comprehension finally broke across her face, he swore he'd _never_ been more mortified.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This is the second story I have written for the pairing, so feedback would be much appreciated! Hope you enjoyed! The third chapter should be up in a few days.

"_All these primary impulses, not easily described in words, are the springs of man's actions."_ - Albert Einstein


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in during the latter half of season three, episode: _"I aint a Judas."_ Specifically after Andrea and Milton chopped off the arms of the walker she used as protection on her journey to the prison - but before they came across Tyresse's group in the forest.

**Warnings:** Contains season three spoilers, references to Milton's background, adult language, possible consent issues, and mature content. And well, smut.

**Statistical Improbabilities**

_**Chapter Three**_

"Milton…have you never-"

Officially, the term 'virgin' or 'virginity', if you wanted to include the plural, was defined as a 'sexually intact' young woman or a 'sexually inexperienced' woman. The Latin and English definitions were deeply traditional; there were no two ways to get around it. However, it didn't take a rocket scientist to understand that they were actually remarkably flexible when examined under the proper historical context. In fact, the term was actually meant to apply to a wide range of subjects within the original definition, meaning that the gender, age, and sexual criteria could be easily changed to reference a sexually inexperienced male, or, say, a man in his _own_ situation.

That being said, he was no stranger to the attentions of his own hand, but other than that, he figured the definition applied. Male virginity wasn't just a social non-sequitur or the beginning of some off-color joke aimed at awkward teenage boys the world over – it was also a reality, regardless of what popular society might claim. In fact, it would be completely ahistorical to claim otherwise.

Unfortunately, the term had acquired a fair amount of baggage over the centuries. For example, the concepts of purity and innocence were of little concern to him. Esoterically speaking, he didn't approve of either the religious or traditional allusions that commonly clung to the coat tails of such socially charged words. He'd read enough medieval history to know that such issues nearly always ended up bloody. …_One way or another_.

Honestly, he didn't see how one's sexual experience could actually affect either purity or innocence. Strictly speaking, it was entirely possible for a person to remain both innocent _and_ pure regardless of their level of sexual experience.

It was a state of mind, not a physical imperative.

Furthermore, society's obsession with either keeping or losing one's virginity was, in his opinion, nothing more than the lopsided rhetoric of impotent blowhards and religious nut-jobs. Such public figures placed religious and spiritual constraints on the most primal and elemental form of human nature – something which was akin to putting a rabid tiger in a cage and trusting that it wouldn't turn on you when you stuck your hand through the bars.

It was beyond ridiculous.

Besides, he wasn't virtuous enough to deny that he didn't like what the term implied in regards to his own choices either. So much damage had been done in the name of religious fundamentalism and social expectation that, short of somehow erasing the last few centuries of human history, he didn't see that changing anytime soon. Social change was a powerful force, it was just a pity it was so god damn slow.

He'd never approved of the connotations behind the term 'virginity'. Neither did he particularly relish the meanings society had tacked onto words such as 'sexual abstinence,' 'maidenhead,' 'pre-marital sex,' or even 'masturbation.' As far as he was concerned, they were all archaic archetypes of customs and traditions that had long since ceased to be relevant. They were nothing more than loaded terms with skewed definitions that were dragged into the lime-light every election season, coupled together with big words and impressive speeches until the issues themselves had become nothing more than fire and brimstone rhetoric and pseudo-religious fodder designed to appeal to the masses rather than the free-thinking individual.

Frankly, he reserved judgement. As far as he was concerned, religion and politics had no business regulating basic human nature. And that applied to everything - women's issues, human sexuality, gender, sex - it was all the same - biology, psychology - the point was it was _personal_.

He chewed on the inside of his lip as she shifted above him, full thighs flirting with the curve of his hips as he fought the urge to surge upwards. He felt strangely cornered, caught on the edge of arousal and desperation as the delicate friction stole down his skin like lightening forking across open water. Because she had to know, she had to feel him. She had to know that he wanted this, that he was only seconds away from just-

He closed his eyes, forcing his frayed nerves to calm as he counted backwards from ten then opened them again. Only, he almost wished he hadn't when he found Andrea staring right back at him, her gaze keen but uncompromising as she waited for him to speak.

It wasn't that he was a prude. It was just that, unlike with most people, sex had never been something that had defined him. It didn't matter whether it was casual or romantic, he'd always been content with his own company - unfinished, but content. Practically speaking he hadn't seen the need, not when most of his urges could be satisfied quickly and indeed quite _neatly_ with the curl of his palm and a few extra moments in the shower after a long day in the lab. After all, many people, both men and women alike, preferred the use of sexual aids to the real thing. There were studies and articles on it and everything, hell just the other day he was-

"…Milton?"

But she was still looking down at him, waiting for that answer and honestly, he had no clue what he was supposed to say. After all, how could he? How could he even begin to put everything he felt into words? He had no idea how to make her understand that he'd never intended for it to turn out this way. That he'd never intended to let the years pass and allow people simply assume what they wanted about him. And that he sometimes regretted pulling away from people, away from opportunities and attachments by getting distracted by his work - putting science _first_ rather than the other way around.

It sounded so stupid now, wasteful and weak. But he had to say something.

His cheeks flamed when he looked up, shame and embarrassment coursed through him as he caught the beginnings of pity rising up in the back of her gaze. And posturing aside, something in him balked at that. His breathing splintered, glasses fogging with an unexpected film of anger and frustration as her eyes roved across his face, almost as if she was trying and failing to find a reason before he'd had so much as a moment to explain himself.

He sucked in an unsteady breath. He didn't need her pity. Pity was the _last_ thing he wanted, especially from her. He didn't want it any more than he deserved it! His mind whirled. How could he make her understand something like this? How-

But when he finally looked up, his gaze was remarkably calm, because at the end of the day he knew_ this_. This decision was something he understood. Something he'd spent his life justifying and _hell _if he was going to be ashamed of it. So, when he forced himself to meet her eyes, his tone was steady, chin up and almost defiant as he cleared his throat and straightened.

"The opportunity never presented itself," he began, his back firming against the uneven trunk despite her weight, doing his best to ignore the irritated flush that was slowly stealing down his skin, coloring the span of his neck before dipping down to pinken the juts of his collarbone as he fought down a frightening surge of embarrassed pride.

_She had to know. He owed her that much at least._

But somewhere along the line he'd apparently miscalculated. Because instead of a small smile or an understanding nod, she frowned – her expression wreathed in censure and disbelief as her blue eyes turned piercing, fingers unconsciously clenching across the span of his bare shoulders as she opened her mouth to speak.

He wet his lips, trying to think quickly when her face suddenly twisted, cursing himself and his sudden inability to think on his feet as he found himself caught up in the inescapable urge to lie.

"I suppose I was waiting for the right person," he tried hesitantly, eyes flicking from her to the angle of her profile, back-lit in the muted afternoon sun. He tried to judge her mood as she shifted on top of him, boot heels pivoting in the mouldering soil as she put out her hand for balance, bracing herself against the trunk above his head with an undignified grunt.

He watched her reaction closely in the intervening moments and was gratified to see her frown eventually smooth, the hint of a smile curling around the corners of her lips as she looked down at him. His mind was already working overtime as her head cocked and her gaze turned inquisitive, teeth teasing across her lower lip as he held back an uncomfortable squirm, drowning for words as he tried to get some hint as to what she was thinking.

The silence was excruciating.

The breeze was cool, ruffling the thin smattering of hair that crowned his chest, arrowing down towards his naval in an uneven trail of dusky brown. He swallowed hard, fighting down the urge to fiddle with his glasses as he watched a tiny droplet of sweat trickle down from her temple before splattering across his navel, chill and real in spite of the unseasonable warmth.

He was able to watch first hand as something in her face finally shifted. Because despite her silence, something in her expression told him he might have just managed to say the right thing after all.

It was a harmless half lie. The one's people tend to appreciate more than the truth. People always say they want the truth. They demand it even, but when you give it to them they figure out pretty quickly that it isn't what they wanted to hear after all. He knew that much from experience.

He was doing her a favor, really. Half the time he didn't even know his own feelings on the subject.

And ironically enough, in an oddly roundabout way, it was actually half true. He'd always figured he'd eventually meet someone. Someone he'd feel enough about to share the experience with, someone worth taking a chance on. But what he _didn't_ elaborate on was that he hadn't necessarily been looking either. Perhaps he should have been, but he hadn't.

He supposed that was all moot point now anyway, and not just because her lips were inches anyway from his, red-bitten and alluring, but because of everything that had happened. The world had ended and suddenly all that waiting, all that putting it off for the opportune moment seemed pretty goddamn pointless.

_That was hindsight for you. Always 20/20._

He'd done it to himself. He knew that. It wasn't like there was someone else, some other factor or person on which he could place blame. The fault was his. He'd let it happen by telling himself that it was unimportant. Justifying the decision by telling himself that it was a distraction he couldn't afford, something that would only interfere with his work – decreasing progress and productivity. He'd told himself he just didn't have the time. There had always been deadlines to make, theses to write and committees to present to. Work had always come first.

In a lot of ways science had been his first love. And for a long time, perhaps right up until everything had fallen apart, he'd figured that had been enough.

And maybe he hadn't been wrong in those assumptions. Maybe he would have even regretted it if he had _indulged_ himself back in university. But at least then he wouldn't be in the position he was in now, facing _her_, a woman who wasn't just beautiful, but experienced and passionate, and not having a god damned clue how to proceed. After all, how could he even begin to return her affections without having everything devolve into gawping and stuttering like some pre-pubescent teenager trying to explain his internet history to his parents?

_Christ, exactly when had his life become so god damned complicated?_

He'd always figured there'd be more time.

"I suppose it doesn't matter now," he added after a pause, finally putting his thoughts to words as he gestured towards the biter's hacked off limbs, attempting to encompass everything that had happened since the infection as she leaned backwards. Her spine popped audibly as she stretched, hips rolling against his in a way that had the muscles in his thighs tensing – almost gnawing right through his lower lip in an effort to temper down his reaction.

"Oh, I don't know about that," she said, tone _electric_ with mischief and a not so subtle promise as she looked down at him. Her grin was cheeky but utterly genuine as one of her hands gentled through his hair, scratching across his scalp in a way that made his nerve endings practically _sing_.

He blushed. Uncertain and shy as she slipped off his glasses, movements gentle and easy as she waited until she had his undivided attention - forcing him to watch as she thumbed down the legs and placed them off to the side. Her movements deliberate and slow as he swallowed hard, blinking up at her uncomprehendingly as she turned her attention back to the matter at hand.

…Namely, _him_.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Sorry this is a bit late! The next part should be up in a few days. I hope you enjoyed!

"_As far as I'm concerned, I prefer silent vice to ostentatious virtue_." - Albert Einstein


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in during the latter half of season three, episode: "I aint a Judas." Specifically after Andrea and Milton chopped off the arms of the walker she used as protection on her journey to the prison - but before they came across Tyresse's group in the forest.

**Warnings:** Contains season three spoilers, references to Milton's background, adult language, possible consent issues, and mature content. And well, smut.

**Statistical Improbabilities**

_**Chapter Four**_

It was gentle this time, _exploratory_. And call him crazy but he was grateful, because this time he could actually take it in, every nuance and exquisite hiss of friction was his to own and explore. Turning everything into more of a sensory _experience_ rather than a full out _explosion_ as she leaned in and captured his lips. The moment stretched, slow and languid as he found himself responding, returning her attentions with a growing sense of urgency as a haze of pleasure turned the moment into something thick and suffocatingly sweet. Any lingering arguments quickly turned into half-fogged recollections and barely understood consonants as he tried to remember how to breathe.

But slowness aside, he still gasped when she nipped his neck. His brain and cock did a rather abrupt about-face as his dick jumped in his trousers - straining painfully against the zipper as his cock, all eight respectable inches, protested. And for good reason, he doubted he'd ever been so turned on in his entire _life_.

Distantly, his brain worked. Shock waves rippled through the stubborn remnants of any higher brain function as her hips rolled and he tried to file that little tid-bit of information away for future consideration.

He had to remember to study it later, the feeling of her teeth grazing across his carotid. Something about erogenous zones, personal preferences and nerve clusters. At the very least it bore further study; for example, could the sensation be duplicated without the presence of a partner? Or was that part of the thrill, part of the experience, because it was _her_? He had to know. He wanted to understand why it made him feel like he was about to-

But trying to do much of anything beyond just _taking it_ was pretty much a pipe dream by this point - what with the way she was moving above him, toned stomach jutting out prettily as she canted her hips and ground herself against his hip, unrepentant and eager as she bit her lip and moaned. Her blue eyes fluttered closed as she chased her own pleasure, leaving him with no other option than to just sit back and _take it_ - nearly choking on the desperate little whimper that was welling up in the back of his throat as his fingers speared down to the roots, chipping away at the ancient bark as his hands dug deep into the dry Georgian clay.

It was almost as if she was goading him, daring him to respond, to lose control and finally take what she was so clearly offering. He was certain now that she was doing her best to drive him _mental_, tempting and utterly _destructive_ as her breasts heaved, tinted pink and gleaming with exertion as she threaded her fingers through his hair and leaned down for a blistering kiss. And even then, he was unable to keep from noticing that they seemed barely contained behind that enticing scrap of fabric and under-wire. In fact, all he'd have to do was-

He felt like a fish out of water. Writhing on the precipice between freedom and a gilded cage as her lips made promises he knew she couldn't keep.

But the question of why still itched.

So after a second of hesitation, he found himself capturing her hands. He was uncertain of when he'd given his hands permission to move, but when they shot forward, large palms momentarily dwarfing the delicate taper of her wrists, he held her at an arm's length.

But almost immediately she pulled away, her muscles fluttering like a frightened bird as she clambered unsteadily to her feet. She met his gaze for a few awkward beats before that same vivacious confidence trickled back into her expression. Her eyes warm and confident as she straightened, knowing she had his undivided attention as her fingers smoothed down her sides - thumbs flirting with the flush of her breasts before coming to rest just below her belt buckle like a challenge.

And before he could even so much as say a word, her belt hit the dirt with the sharp ting of metal meeting metal. Shimmying out of her jeans with a subtle flair that he just _knew _was for his benefit - making him discover by proxy that,_ yes_, he could indeed get harder than he already was.

_Christ._

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, taking her in from the swell of her hips to the creamy length of her thighs - trying to coax some moisture back into his mouth as he held back a helpless groan. He tried and ultimately failed to catch the train back to reality as he lingered over the leanness of her waist, wondering off-handedly how his palms would look against the flare of her hips as he swallowed hard.

"Why?" He finally managed, his voice raspy and more than a little thin as he coughed and tried his best to meet her gaze. He decided to cut himself some slack for once as his gaze strayed down towards her center - nearly losing it all over again as he followed the lush line of her thighs. Both trying and ultimately failing to fathom if she'd actually planned all this – if the silk, periwinkle thong was there on purpose or if it was just his good fortune. Because really-

"Do I need a reason?" She countered, putting her hands on her hips in mock seriousness. She towered over him as he scootched up against the trunk, watching as she toed off her boots, bending down with legs that seemed to go on _forever _as she pulled off her socks and tossed them behind her. Apparently oblivious to the fact that the biter was still thrashing around on the other side of the clearing, salivating and greedy, or the fact that they were both all but _naked_ in the middle of the woods, where anyone – or rather _anything_ - could just happen upon them and-

"Yes," he replied blandly, pointedly ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that was telling him to just shut up and enjoy it.

Because make it or break it, he had to know. He had to know where they stood, if they stood on anything at all. He needed some sort of assurance, something that would give him something to work with, an understanding of how and why. Even if this was just his lucky day, knowing what he was getting into before the fact was something that even his brain, as muddled and fogged as it was, absolutely insisted upon.

But she just laughed.

"Probably because of _that_ right there," she continued, chuckling gently as her fingers flirted with the seam of her panties, thumbs tracing complicated whorls into the crinkled silk that he couldn't help but follow.

"Because of _what_?" He parroted, momentarily lost as her smile turned expectant. He forced himself to still as she trailed a hand down his flank, crouching down until they were at eye level as a contented hum issued from the back of her throat. Their limbs tangled together as her fingers cupped his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze before she answered.

"You're a good man Milton," she replied, tossing back her curls before fixing him with a grin that could have melted graphite. Her expression sultry but remarkably serious considering she was perched atop him like some bird of prey, confident and seemingly unconcerned despite their rather…_unique_ situation.

"And I don't know if you've noticed, but the world seems to be in short supply of them these days," she quipped, hands exploratory and bold as her fingers scratched through the thin patch of downy brown hair that crowned his chest, tugging almost rhythmically as a nail grazed across his nipple.

…_Jesus._

It took him longer than it probably should have to realize that wasn't really an answer at all. But by then, any protest he was going to make was effectively lost when she leaned in for a kiss.

Only this time he met her halfway.

His lashes fanned across his cheeks as they fluttered closed, enjoying the moment in all its intricacies as she nibbled on his lower lip - coaxing him into action as his lips grew bold, seeking her out unbidden as he surged up to meet her. He was lost to the sensations when her weight suddenly shifted, leaning into him as his fingers ghosted across the span of her waist all the way down to the curve of her hip. He flirted with the elastic of her panties before shying away again, suddenly distracted as her breasts brushed across his chest - a strange mixture of warm skin and sweat-soaked lace.

And somewhat predictably, his eyes snapped right back open again.

His tongue peeked out as he took her in. Her breasts were flushed an alluring pink in the near light, pushed into prominence and cutting quite the figure as her hips grinded against his. The moment stretched before he finally allowed himself to look. In fact, he couldn't seem to help himself, finally having sympathy for all those gob-smacked men you see in those lingerie commercials, gape-mouthed and walking into telephone poles as a scantily-clad woman admires her reflection from the apartment above.

_Hell, it was like they had their own center of gravity and he was caught up in their god-damned orbit!_

The bra itself was a delicate confectionery of lace and silk that looked so out of place in the middle of the woods that it only made him like it more. Because it felt like something normal, like something he might have had if he'd only decided he'd wanted this a year or two sooner. Back when the words 'infection' and 'virus' meant the bird flu or a particularly bad case of bacterial meningitis. Back when the word 'dead' meant exactly that and not the confusing, horrible_ thing_ that had come haunt them all today.

His thoughts were devolving, getting sucked in like some overconfident hacker skirting around the edges of a honey-pot, overwhelmed with code but committed all the same. And when she leaned forward, nipples pebbled with arousal under that ridiculously thin material, he got fixated on it - realizing rather quickly that he'd probably like the view a whole lot better _without_ it.

He waited for her nod before he reached around, almost embracing her, as his fingers examined the clasp, breathing her in as her loose curls whispered across his skin. It took a few extra seconds but he unclipped it easily - torn between the pert rise of her nipples and the sudden exclamation as she laughed aloud. The sound was lilting and singsong as it echoed through the clearing.

He cocked his head in silent question, unable to keep himself from smiling as her laughter only grew - infectious and genuine as the weak afternoon sun filtered through the trees overhead.

"It usually takes men _a lot_ longer than that," she replied, looking two parts impressed and the rest breathless as her hands teased across his skin, tugging playfully at the dusky hairs the crowned his chest before skimming down the long line of his arms. …_Exploring_.

"I'm good with my hands," he replied blithely, examining the worn contours of the under-wire as the crumpled black lace and sweat stained satin hung between his thumb and forefinger - uncertain of how to react when his response only made her laugh all the harder.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – The next part should be up in a few days, hope you enjoyed!

**Reference:** The term: _**"honey-pot"**_ is in computer terminology, a trap set to detect, deflect, or in some manner counteract attempts at unauthorized use of information systems. Generally it consists of a computer, data, or a network site that appears to be part of a network, but is actually isolated and monitored, and which seems to contain information or a resource of value to attackers. (via wiki)

"_It's a natural reaction. It's a sexual attraction. You play me like I am made of strings."_ – Unknown.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in during the latter half of season three, episode: "I aint a Judas." Specifically after Andrea and Milton chopped off the arms of the walker she used as protection on her journey to the prison - but before they came across Tyresse's group in the forest.

**Warnings:** Contains season three spoilers, references to Milton's background, adult language, possible consent issues, and mature content. And well, smut.

**Statistical Improbabilities**

_**Chapter Five**_

The delicate rasp of her skin brushing against his felt electric, like a thousand neurons pulsating, _firing_ as her hands gentled down his sides. The sensation made him shiver with anticipation and pleasure as her thumbs tangled in his belt loops, tracing the creased olive of his waistband before arrowing downwards.

_Jesus, this was really happening. They were really going to-_

He reared up, nearly choking on his own tongue as she reached down and palmed him through his trousers. Her hands firmed around his bulge as he let go of a strangled grunt, feeling distinctly betrayed by the responses of his own body as his cock jumped ahead of reason and due process and hardened under the press.

His pulse thundered in his ears. The cadence ragged as he sucked in shaky breath, trying to think of something else, _anything else_, as she just grinned, her expression teasing but confident as she shook back her long curls and _squeezed_.

His cock jumped, straining painfully against the zipper as she slowly established a rhythm. His lashes fluttered as he looked down, forcing himself to focus. Unwilling to miss even a second of what was happening as her hand trailed down the length of him – a searing mess of growing friction, dripping sweat, and dirt-smeared fabric as he desperately tried to remember why coming in his pants _really _wasn't an option. No matter how much his libido figured it was necessary.

In fact, the way this was going, he was convinced he was going to completely embarrass himself. The only thing was that he had no idea how to stop it. What was it that people did? He'd heard of people counting backwards from a hundred, thinking of close relatives naked, or even something gruesome and disgusting in order to maintain a hint of control. Maybe he should do that.

But it was no good. He was literally that far gone.

He started reciting prime numbers, starting at twenty-three and feeling accomplished when he managed to get past sixty-one. But he lost track of the sequence not long after that, brain stuttering somewhere around seventy-one as she suddenly moved - effectively distracted as her free hand came up and palmed her breast, all freckle-splotched skin and perfect rose-bud nipples as her gaze fixed on his. Watching him watch her as his fingers twitched, yearning to touch, to pick back up where she'd started as she pinched her nipple and arched in pleasure.

_Oh um, oh shi-_

But when her hands came up and tugged his zipper he swore he stopped breathing, meeting her gaze with an uncertain glance and what he hoped was something close to a smile. He wasn't sure how to respond when she only shook her head and leaned down to capture his lips, sucking and biting until his brain stalled and he gave as good as he got. There was something about the plushness of her lips against his, and the challenge that came with chasing the flavor of something sweet across her tongue - something that came part and parcel with the subtle hint of honey and vanilla. Sharp and bold in way that if he hadn't known any better, would have made him suspect that someone had finally managed to suss out where he'd hidden the last of his premium China Black tea.

_What was that flavor? It was familiar, too familiar, very-_

It wasn't until she pulled away that he realized that somewhere in the interim, she'd managed to pop the button and part his zipper. Cock twitching under the fabric of his boxer-briefs as she ran her finger down the length of him, underwear tented ridiculously as she murmured appreciatively.

He blinked. _Oh, she was good._

"Let me?" She asked, the words coming out more like a demand than a question. Her tone was unsteady but sure as she hovered above him, blonde curls framing her face in a muted halo of dirty gold as she suddenly stilled. The warmth of her fingers bled through the thin fabric as his hips jerked on pure reflex, the subtle pressure nowhere _near_ enough as she waited for his response.

_Christ, she had to know what she was doing; she had to know what it felt like to be so close that he just wanted to-_

But, in spite of the fact that he didn't know what he was feeling or why, he nodded. After finally giving her the permission she craved, she smiled wickedly and dealt with the last barrier that stood between her and her goal, yanking down his boxer-briefs so fast he swore he felt the elastic _snap_.

He rose to the occasion with an almost embarrassing eagerness. Straining through the sides of his unparted zipper as she clicked her tongue and brought him out, unveiling him for the first time as he was suddenly struck by the surrealism of the moment. Someone else, someone like _her _was actually doing this for him. Someone _other_ than himself was wrapping their fingers around his cock, seconds away from giving him that single, experimental stroke he hadn't even known he'd been craving until the moment where her teeth had grazed across his neck. Predatory and alluring as his nervous system pinged off into oblivion, leaving him with nothing but the feeling, the desire, the want – _no_, the _need -_ for more. Where everything was devolving, turning urgent and greedy as he leaned into her touch, silently pleading for more.

He'd never thought it would be like this, that he could have_ this_, that she would-

It was only a few beats later that she forced him to sit up. He canted his hips and shifted his weight to his arms as she pulled his trousers down his thighs, nails scoring through the thin smattering of light brown hair and modest collection of off-color freckles as she bared him to the warm, spring air.

His fingers sunk deep into the loamy soil as she rearranged herself. After gradually becoming accustomed to the feeling of dirt and pulverized undergrowth tickling his skin, the toes of her boot dug uncomfortably into the jut of his hip, uncomfortable but strangely affirming as she worked his trousers down to his ankles.

Her hands were gentle, all blunt nails and eager fingers as her thumb swiped across the velvet head – delicate but bold as she repeated the action once, then twice, and finally a third time, increasing in pressure each time until he was gasping. His brain went offline as she grinned, humming softly in the back of her throat as her fingers dipped down to tease his balls.

And honestly, he was a mess. His hair was plastered to his temples, dark with sweat as his vision blurred, lashes fluttering with untidy beads of moisture as every muscle in his body seemed to tense. His senses were alive with the earthy slick of dirt smearing across his skin as his limbs grew restless - cock pulsing hotly as he all but panted into the growing afternoon heat.

_Christ, he couldn't take much more of this. He needed to come, he needed - well, he wasn't exactly sure what he needed other than he did, and soon._

But if she noticed his predicament, she didn't seem inclined to do anything about it. In fact she seemed to know exactly when to ease off and just when to speed up, playing both his desperation and inexperience to her advantage - hips rising off the ground with every stroke as he hitched into her hand, hesitant but needy as he watched her hand slide down the length of him.

But it wasn't until her hand came back up, circling around the head and thumbing across the slit that he tasted smelted copper. His teeth sliced right through his lower lip as her thumb smeared an embarrassingly large dollop of pre-come and trailed it clear across the crown. His tongue flicked out to taste the metallic zing of his own blood as she stroked the underside of his cock with an expert twist - making him nearly fly right off the ground and into the stratosphere as he choked on a needy, desperate sounding whimper.

He bit his lip, mindless of the pain as he thrust into her grip, all but mainlining that barely-there friction, hips surging upwards with a grunt as she pressed him right back down again. And it was no wonder; he'd never seen himself like this. Red and dripping, so hard that he swore it was cutting off his god damned blood supply as her breath, warm and moist, ghosted across the shell of his ear.

_Christ, he couldn't do this, he needed-_

He shifted. His cock throbbing in her palm, straining and jumping as his body was overtaken with the sudden desire for more. It was like a switch had been flicked and suddenly he was _hungry_ for it. No matter the cost, he wanted it. And despite her earlier inattention, something of what he was feeling must have shown on his face because it wasn't long after, a low and almost _feral _curl of the sound left his throat that she straightened, squeezing his inner thigh.

"Hey, I've got you. I'm going to take care of you, alright?" She assured, her blue eyes bright and focused despite their situation as he nodded and gulped - uncertain but strangely desperate at the same time. On point for whatever would happen next as her hand traced complex whorls into the jut of his hip, trailing down the lightly-furred line of his thighs before dipping back up to his navel.

He closed his eyes, savoring it. Because, desperation or not, he wanted to remember this. Not just because it was his first time, or even because tomorrow they could both be dead, or worse. But because it was _her_. It sounded ridiculous, even to him, but there had been something about her that had just…_clicked_ - right from the very beginning. From the moment where he'd watched Martinez and Tim carry her into the medical center – a filthy, tangled mess of limp blonde hair and clammy skin - there had been something about her that had made him pause.

For the first time in weeks, he'd ignored the possibility of fresh specimens in favor of helping Doctor Stevens set up her IV. There has been something about the set of her face that had intrigued him, something that had made him stop and actually _look_.

And despite what some might be inclined to think, it wasn't all superficial. No, it had been deeper than that, because despite the fact that he knew next to nothing about her, he'd known he was seeing something remarkable. From that very first moment she'd been an enigma, an unpredictable element, the one variable on the graph that refused to fit. He wasn't ashamed to say that he'd been drawn to that - to a person where violence and compassion rested on a razor's edge, a hair's breath away from tipping the balance even as she struggled to retain what this world was slowly taking away.

The point was, he'd felt it –_ this_ - even then, despite her condition and the vaguely threatening looks her friend had given him as he'd counted out her pulse and prepped a bag of anti-biotics, watching from a close distance as the Doctor began her examination.

In a way, it actually made all _this_, everything that made up right here and right now, seem strangely fitting.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This is the second story I have written for the pairing, so feedback would be much appreciated! There will be at least two more chapters of this story after this, so stay tuned!

"_Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love_." - Albert Einstein


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in during the latter half of season three, episode: "I aint a Judas." Specifically after Andrea and Milton chopped off the arms of the walker she used as protection on her journey to the prison - but before they came across Tyresse's group in the forest.

**Warnings:**Contains season three spoilers, references to Milton's background, adult language, possible consent issues, and mature content. And well, smut.

**Statistical Improbabilities**

_**Chapter Six**_

He stared up at her, eyes lingering on the creamy gape of her throat. Enthralled, despite the feast of flesh she so willingly offered, with the gentle hush of her breasts and the strong taper of her thighs as his attentions were diverted towards more…_unconventional_ fare.

Indeed, if it wasn't for the fact that she had him pinned down, cock in hand and hemming him in from all sides, he might have even taken a card from her hand and explored the span of her throat _himself_. And as the thought matured, he found himself gnawing on the inside of his cheeks, using the awkward pin-pricks of pain that resulted to temper down his reaction. He was too far gone to help the way his cock had started twitching, throbbing and angry, with pre-come drooling from the tip as he moved into the firm of her hand, unconsciously chasing his own pleasure as arousal, searing hot and primitive, stuttered through him like the Victorian flash of an ankle.

It was typical really; he'd never been what most people would term a 'conventional' man. So, he supposed that the fact that his tastes might be more…_complex _than the average man only proved it. And, judging by the heated look she sent him as she watched him take her in, she approved. Very much so, in fact.

_Christ, why had he waited so long to do this again?_

There was sweat dripping down between her breasts, glistening exaggeratedly in the filtered sunlight as her movements took on a new urgency. Her strokes turned fast and just a bit too hard as she threw a brutal, backhand twist into every down stroke - smearing sweat and pre-come across the underside of the head until every stroke was slicked with his own fluids.

His eyes threatened to roll back in his head as her thighs firmed across his groin, adding a new element to the friction as her free hand raked across his scalp - teasing his messy, sweat-soaked hair into untidy tufts as he desperately tried to move with her. Already arrowing down the line towards that singular point of pleasure as the stuttered staccato of his own breathing wheezed and hitched into the muted hum.

Every touch was like an epiphany. Like the answer to a question he hadn't even asked. Like divine inspiration, eureka, that perfect variable and ill-timed miracle all wrapped up into one. It was like apples falling on physicists' heads and that first, accidental poof of smoke that harkened the creation of gunpowder, the advent of horsemanship and its revolution of ancient warfare or-

He choked on his thoughts - gasping for air as her fingers raked through his course curls, rolling his balls with a tenuous flick before dipping back up and adding a twist to her upstroke. In fact, she nearly gave him a god damned heart attack as an earthy little whine built up in the back of his throat.

Because this wasn't anything like he'd expected. There was no method to her touches or pattern to her behavior. _Nothing_. Nothing he could track or predict. It was all unplotted variables and unknown destinations now. Planetary bodies spinning through the darkness of space without gravity or substance. The center unable to hold its contents as his pulse sky rocketed.

"Shame you've been hiding this away. I think he deserves a night out on the town, don't you?" She smirked, breaking the silence like whiplash as he blushed - bringing him crashing back to the present as he nodded unconsciously. His attention effectively snared as she reached down and stroked his balls, making him catch his breath as she rolled them expertly, tugging on him playfully as they drew up almost painfully tight.

His neck flushed as the corners of her lips crept upwards, blue eyes laughing as if she knew something he didn't as she tweaked his nipple, eyes crinkling when the action elicited a disgruntled whine. His chest heaved as her roaming hands coaxed him into compliance, circling around his cock and squeezing as something in him _roared _- cheeks flaming with a sudden rush of heat as he hardened in her hands.

His silence was loaded, ignoring words in favor of hitching upwards, his tongue adventurous as he yanked one of his hands free and caught her by the crook of her neck. He brought her down for a sloppy kiss that nearly unbalanced them both, senses singing as he crushed her soft curls in his fist - no longer content to wait as their limbs tangled together and he captured her lips. He tugged playfully, just like she had only minutes before as a surprised little moan rose up in the back of her throat.

But it wasn't long before she was pulling away again, leaning just out of reach as an almost possessive sort of frustration made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

"Shush, let me do all the work, alright? You just sit back and enjoy," she said with a grin, lips red-bitten and decidedly swollen as she hovered above him. His heart nearly stopped right then and there as she curled her hand around the base of him, shimmied out of her underwear and parted her folds with the other.

He nearly swallowed his own god damned tongue as her fingers traced the lips of her sex.

_How could she touch herself so easily? Didn't that make her want to-_

But he ended up answering his own question when she canted her hips and let one of her fingers slip inside, moaning in pleasure as the lips of her entrance shone with a sudden smear of clear, musky smelling fluid.

He swallowed, hard.

_Jesus, she was so-_

The muscles in her thighs were trembling, outlining the leanness of her calves as she began stroking herself in time with him, the light friction making him bite his lip and squirm as her rhythm occasionally faltered. But, desperation or not, he found that the sight of her, almost _losing it_ above him, _more _than made up for it. In fact, his eyes were fixed on the way her fingers were working, curling inside herself as the smell of her arousal rose, wafting through the air in a haze of sweat and gentle musk.

He nearly yipped when she fell to her knees, hand buried up to the wrist in her own sex as she suddenly pulled away, the hand that had been curled around his cock came up to steady herself.

He winced as his dick slapped against his belly, drooling pre-come across his navel as she eyed him consideringly. Her gaze only sharpened as he nearly whined, letting go of a soft little mewl of sound as the muscles in his belly twitched, the air rich with the smell of his own arousal as another bead of moisture slicked across the crown of his cock.

His brain looped back on itself as his spine stiffened, gasping for air as the sensitive head throbbed almost reproachfully. But she only batted his hands away as he instinctively reached for his cock, desperate and touch-starved as her hand covered his, pressing it into his thigh as her smile went wicked. Her expression edged on mischievous and wanton as she watched his cock twitch, dribbling clear across his belly until the thin, ropey little strands stuck to his skin – making him hiss as her soft breath ghosted across his groin.

Because he wanted that - her lips on him, and really, would she? He was so far gone he didn't even think twice about it, about the connotations of it. He just _needed_. And for all intents and purposes, he was floored by the very idea. Would she though? Would she even think about-

"I can hear you thinking…" she panted, voice sing-song and lightly chastening as the fingers that had been buried in her folds suddenly emerged, glistening in the low light as the same hand started massaging the muscles in his thigh. The action made him inhale sharply as her wetness began cooling on his skin.

_Sweet Jesus…_

"Turn off your brain for once, Milton - just _feel_," she insisted, her naked thighs glinting in the soft light as he nearly choked on a manic curl of laughter.

_If only she knew. By this point he doubted he could pull off a single logical thought to save his life._

But the point must have gotten through somehow because a few jagged seconds later, his brain decided to take her words as an invitation - so taken by the idea that he could _finally _touch that he momentarily stalled, his fingers flexing at his sides for a few long seconds as he tried to figure out what he wanted to have under his fingers first.

Eventually, logic won out and he started with what was closest, ghosting calloused pads down her sides and the swell of her breasts before smoothing across her flanks. He didn't miss a second of the tiny tremors that resulted, or the unsteady hitch that had entered her breathing as his thumbs traced the curve of her ribs. No niche was left, no bone, nor swath of skin unexamined as he raked his nails down her back, counting the vertebrae as her hand curled around his neck, scratching his scalp deliciously - stealing each other's air as their lips remained only inches apart.

It wasn't until she shifted, planting her feet more firmly at his sides that his fingers traced across the uneven rectangle of freckles that framed her navel - surprising even himself with his boldness as his hand went instinctively to her hip, anchoring her there as she crouched over him.

"That's it," she coaxed, swirling her thumb through the dot of pre-come that had pooled at the tip, slicking the head with a single, but completely devastating swipe of her thumb as he bucked helplessly into her fist. The friction was nowhere near enough and he didn't know what was worse, that he had just enough to know what he was missing or that he had it at all – unable to hold back a groan of frustration and she settled back into the same soul-breakingly slow rhythm.

She was doing it on _purpose_, he was sure of it now.

"Hold your horses, I'll get you there," she hummed, apparently having gained mind reading capabilities somewhere in between backing him into the tree and ridding him of his trousers. She mirrored his thoughts almost to the letter as her voice grew husky, sounding just about as desperate as he was as her free hand trailed down to play with his sack - adding an edge of danger to her motions now as her nails trailed, shocky and sharp all the way down to his perineum.

The muscles in his arms tensed, brain momentarily stalling as he attempted to categorize the new sensation, heart skipping a beat or three as a bolt of pleasure arrowed up from his groin. The scent of crushed pine filled his senses, only dimly registering the way bits of bark were flaking off the tree at his back, digging into the divots of his spine as his head thudded back against the trunk.

_Christ, he could get used to this._

But laying back and _taking it_ wasn't exactly what he had in mind. Not anymore at least. It was time he became a more…_active_ participant.

"What-what do you like?" He gasped, stuttering through the consonants as he caught her gaze - momentarily gratified when her eyes widened, going expressive and interested, like he'd caught her off guard before her features smoothed. The corners of her lips tipped upwards in a strangely proud, but undeniably satisfied smile as the fingers of her free hand tangled with his, pressing them up against her entrance. The intent behind the action was made crystal clear as his libido promptly laid waste to any lingering doubts he had about her, himself, the locale, and everything else in between.

Because yes, _this. _He wanted-

"Show me," he demanded, suddenly desperate and eager to learn as she leaned into his fingers, unconsciously hitching forward into the soft pressure of her yielding flesh as he traced the line of her slit with a wondering look.

Her thighs spread invitingly as he wriggled the digit experimentally inside her. His finger came back slick with her fluids as he groaned and did it again, exploring the softness of her inner walls until he eventually got bold - finally giving into curiosity as he brought the digit up to the light, practically dripping up to the knuckle with the clear sheen of her juices.

He sniffed it, surreptitiously. He had to admit he'd always been curious.

Her eyes slitted in arousal as he brought his soaked finger up to taste - licking a cautious stripe around the curl of his finger as she sucked in a shaky breath, not even thinking the action through as he did it, curious and uncompromising, as he savored the tangy flavor - rolling the taste of her around on his tongue as he cataloged the flavor and consistency.

And in the end, when what he'd just done actually sunk in, he wasn't sure who was more taken aback,_ her_ or_ him_.

Still, the flavor was peculiar, a strange mixture of tang and musk with just enough sweetness to it to mellow out the bitter tart. His eyes darted up when she moaned. His keen eyes took in the way hers had darkened, pupils expanding as her lips went pleasure slack and swollen. Her eyes fixated on his face as his tongue slid across his lower lip, chasing the lingering hints of her flavor in a way that had her leaning forward, the action instinctive and eager, as his breath flushed across her chest in uneven stutter of air.

_Christ._

He couldn't deny that something inside him _roared_ when he slipped back inside her, grunting at the slick, welcoming slide as her juices squelched around his fingers. Bloody teeth played with his lower lip as her inner muscles trembled, tightening and flexing as he scissored his fingers back and forth – searching.

_…Where was it?_

He grunted in affirmation when found the fleshy knot of her clit. Rose-petal soft and throbbing under his thumb, making her buck forward and moan as he stroked it, changing the pace and pressure to match her reactions as she began falling apart above him. Her face was a mask of grim ecstasy and innocent pleasure as she thrust herself forward, presenting him with the flush of her breasts, nipples hard and aroused, her sex all but _dripping_, grinding against the underside of his cock in a way that had him hitching into the press. His eyes threatened to close as something suspiciously similar to a whine issued from the back of her throat.

"Are you sure you haven't done this before?" She chided, sloe-eyed and panting as he replaced his fingers and moved on to new territory. He reveled in her softness, in the way she responded to his every touch, every smooth glide and crook of his fingers as he traced her lower lips and flicked her clit.

He might be new at this, but he was a quick learner. After all, as a scientist, he was good at both following directions and thinking outside the box. It was basically the job description. Action and reaction, the premise was surprisingly similar. _Hell, this was easy_.

He wasn't good with people. He knew that. People and their complexities, society and its pitfalls, social taboos and relationship tripwires were all largely a mystery to him. They were as inaccessible to him as Heisenberg's Uncertainty Theory or Algebraic Geometry was to the average every day, white collar that spent their best years stuck in some god forsaken cubicle because they'd had the misfortune of being told in their youth that they'd never amount to anything better. But he _was_ good at observing, at planning and connecting the dots. He excelled at sussing out patterns of behavior and, most of all,_ learning_.

He was a quick study and eager to please. All traits he had a feeling were going to come in handy – and likely sooner rather than later.

A jolt of masculine pride shot through him as he took her in, tongue flicking out to taste the salt tracks of his own sweat as he rolled her clit and swallowed her moan with his lips. Teeth, lips and tongue mashed together until grace and finesse were tossed out the window in favor of need. In favor of passion, fear, desire, prudence, lust, or whatever the hell _this _actually was.

She hovered above him unsteadily, a sweat slicked mess of clinging leaves and messy blond curls, leaning into his hand steadily, like she just couldn't help herself as his other hand whispered across her skin. He cupped the swell of her breast before hefting its weight in his palm, marveling for a moment at its softness as her ragged breathing rose above the muted forest quiet.

Because that's when he realized it.

She was off balance and eager because of _him._ Him and no one else. It was him who was going to watch her come undone, her spine arcing and hips jerking as she seized, coming apart so prettily around him. It was_ him_ who was going to have her, him who was _making_ her feel this way; he was_ going_ to make her feel _everything_ – everything he had in him to give and more.

And really, wasn't that just a thought?

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be likely one more chapter to this particular, hope you enjoy!

"_Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves."_ - Albert Einstein


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in during the latter half of season three, episode: "I aint a Judas." Specifically after Andrea and Milton chopped off the arms of the walker she used as protection on her journey to the prison - but before they came across Tyresse's group in the forest.

**Warnings:** Contains season three spoilers, references to Milton's background, adult language, possible consent issues, and mature content. And well, smut.

**Statistical Improbabilities**

_**Chapter Seven**_

It was a strange thing, feeling confidence in a situation where he had no experience – where he had no idea of the rules or exactly how to proceed. To feel like they were finally on common ground despite the fact that this _wasn't _how he preferred to do things. He liked to know what he was getting into _before _he got there – looking before he leapt, as it were. He liked clear courses and precise five step plans. Neither was he one for spontaneity or flying by the seat of his pants.

And yet, here he was, wading head first into this new found confidence with all the excited temerity of a newborn duckling following its mother to water. And there was only one reason for it. It was because _this_, the stuff of observation and reaction, was _his_ territory. From the beginning it had been _her_ that had been the aggressor, _her_ that had backed him into a corner and tempted him with an offer even _he _couldn't refuse.

In his opinion, trying to turn the tables was the_ least _he could do.

He felt like he had been stuck on that precipice, edging between temptation and release for _hours_. In fact, he could hardly tell where he ended and she began. They'd run out of space, stalling between that last tenuous step and everything that had come before it as the fingers of his free hand sunk deep into the divots of her spine - at loathe to let her go, even for a moment, as he crushed his lips against hers.

Her breath was hot against his face when she moaned. He nearly lost it right then and there when she ground herself against him, sending pleasure sparking down his spine to pool in his groin as her lower lips rubbed across his shaft, damp and impossibly hot as she slicked him with her juices.

He bit his lip, choking on a strangled groan as she arched her back, breasts skimming across his chest as she hitched into him. She followed the curl of his hand instinctively as he added a third finger, grazing his thumb across her clit with deliberate slowness until she started falling apart on top of him. He was learning and experimenting even now as he mapped her out with his fingers, delving into new territory before retreating back to perfect the old.

Their limbs were tangled, jumbled together in a mess of long, colt-like calves and sturdy thighs - a confusing mish-mash of coarse hair and criminally smooth skin. And despite the fact that he knew he should, he never wanted to leave. He'd forgotten about everything, the woods, the biters, the consuming _openness_ that had so unnerved him when all this had first started.

Hell, what sane man would want something like this end? Not when he had her, wanton and hungry, her eyes fever bright and promising as her nails scratched across his scalp. The sensation made him groan as they skimmed through his short brown hair, careful to keep up that same, steady rhythm as he did his best to draw it out - his fingers slick inside her as she ground herself against the arch of his hip, lost in her own pleasure.

The air seemed thick when she suddenly bucked forward, eyes going unfocused as the rolls of her hips became desperate snaps of movement – feral and wild as inspiration struck and he caught her nipple between his teeth, sucking and laving the pert little bud at the same time as he rolled her clit, the movements fast and sure, but growing rough as he pulled a breathy little moan from her spit-slicked lips.

He watched her chase her pleasure right to the very brink before he finally mashed his thumb down on her clit, sending her over the edge with an unsteady burst of sound. Her orgasm caught her completely by surprise as her walls suddenly clamped down on his fingers, lost in the moment as his dick ground up against her entrance. His tongue curled around her nipple, gumming the sensitive bud until she collapsed against his chest, pressing open mouthed kisses into his neck as she soaked his hand up to the wrist with her fluids.

_Christ, he needed to-_

He kept up the stimulation on her clit long after the spasms had faded. He tried his best to ignore the insistent throb as his hips hitched minutely into the crease of her hip - desperate for the pathetically insufficient bursts of friction it provided as her nails made tracks through the sheen of sweat that was beading across his chest.

"Not bad, Mr. Mamet," she breathed, voice hitching as she sucked in an unsteady gasp of air, "are you that quick of a study in everything or is today just my lucky day?" She asked cheekily, her tone easy but noticeably shaken as she slowly came down from her high – her face a fresh canvas of surprise, admiration, and another emotion he didn't quite recognize as she squirmed in place.

"It's an occupational necessity," he murmured, nose nudging against her ear as her hair swept across his chest. They breathed into the pause, perhaps even lost for words when he tucked a wayward curl behind her ear and sucked a line of bruises across her neck, unable to keep from wincing when his erection got caught between the gentle v of her thighs. Her soft skin rubbed across the sensitive head as he hitched into the friction, too far gone to think anything of it as he ground himself into the curve of her hip.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting out of the following moments, but whatever it was, he didn't get it. Because before he could even process it, she was suddenly moving. Her thighs slick and glistening with her own juices even as she rose up on her haunches, moving into a crouch above him and ignoring him completely as he made a muted noise of protest.

"Occupational necessity, huh? Well then, allow me to teach you a _new_ lesson," she hummed, distracting him when her voice dipped low, catching him off guard as her fingers curled around the base of his cock and guided him to her entrance – sinking down the length of him as the world roared in his ears, devolving until there was nothing else but that sweet pressure and unimaginable warmth.

And for a long, breathless second he could have sworn that his heart had given out.

He supposed that, as a scientist, he should have been ashamed to admit it. But when she took him in one easy glide, he had to admit that his mind went blank - fizzing out like unfoiled electrical wires as the world abruptly supernovaed behind his tightly closed lids.

_Jesus mother of fuc-_

He stuttered in a sudden gasp of air, desperate and dizzy in a way that made him uncertain of exactly when he'd stopped breathing. His lashes fluttered, muscles tensing and releasing just underneath the skin as she slid down the length of him, her eyes closed and panting until he was fully seated inside her.

For a split second it almost hurt, struggling against a pressure that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, strangling him from crown to shaft as she tightened around him. But the sensation quickly passed; replaced by pleasure, white hot and welcoming as she made to lift herself back up again.

His hands were trembling as he held her there for a few long beats – blunt nails digging into her skin in angry, half-moon crescents as he fought against the urge to come on the spot. _Jesus, he hadn't realized-_

Because this wasn't like anything he'd ever felt, anything he'd ever imagined or fantasized about in his youth. In fact, to say that it was related to anything he'd ever experienced would be doing the sensation an injustice. Because this was right. It felt_ right_. He didn't know how else to describe it. It was impossible and sweet and everything he hadn't known he'd been missing all at the same time.

He was about to say something, perhaps something about the sensation or how he could _feel_ her, rocking minutely up against him when she did something with her hips that made his mouth slacken. Forgetting whatever it was he'd been planning on saying when she did it _again_. It was something to do with the way her hips hitched against his, moaning as she chased her own pleasure. She ignored his death grip on her hips as she arched up and began moving - dominant and sure as he nearly choked on his own tongue trying to keep up.

The rhythm was sporadic at first, jagged and off-center and nowhere near enough as her fingers sunk into the meat of his thighs, using him as a brace as she lifted herself up until only the head was still inside her before sinking back down again. But the hesitancy didn't last – and soon enough she'd found her niche, setting into rhythm that pulled a series of embarrassingly needy groans from his bloody lips – split down the center from _both _their exuberance as she licked a stripe up the side of his neck and clenched around him.

In less than five seconds flat, he knew he never wanted to leave that soft, sweet heat. Because this time he'd given himself permission to get lost in her, to feel her moving around him, tight, strong and supple as he matched her thrust for thrust._ Finally_ coming into his own as he kept one hand on her waist and the other deep in the mouldering soil - directing her rhythm almost instinctively as their hips ground together.

_Christ._ It was like coming home and dying and –_ oh –_

He sucked in a battered gasp of air as she moved above him, riding him with a tenacity that went beyond mere skill, beyond bravo, or that single-minded race for release. No, this was something else - perhaps even something _deeper_ than what he'd originally taken this for. But the emotion was tricky, elusive, and he lost it a few moments later when the cadence of her breathing suddenly changed.

Her blue eyes were back-lit with lust and determination as one of her hands snuck down between them, tracing the line of his perineum and cupping his sack, rolling his balls with a careful hand as he arched up, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he groaned. His thrusts turned jagged and rough as he held her in place, grinding himself into her in a way that made her nearly _shriek_, coloring the muted quiet with a symphony of cut-off cries and muffled moans as he fisted his hand in her hair and brought her down for a messy kiss.

The sensation awakened every nerve to pure pleasure, pure _heat_ as he surged up and captured her lips - greedy and demanding as he swallowed her groan and slammed back into her. He wouldn't know it until later, but by that point, he'd settled in for the long haul, coaxing her back into that exquisite rhythm, determined to make this last as her thighs quivered, dripping with sweat as she rocked above him, warm, wet and -

It was addictive, he realized. She was a drug and he was hooked. He was an addict, a lost cause, liable to do anything, and he meant _anything,_ just to prolong the high. To have her, not just here, but later, in his lab, in the back of the truck, his flat, against the crumbling brick in that alley behind town hall. _It didn't matter_. What he was willing to do just for the _chance_ was absolutely staggering - even frightening perhaps, but true nonetheless.

Because, yes - _this._

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Okay so I lied, there will be one more chapter after this, this chapter just got way to long so I had to cut it, the last chapter should be up in a few days. Hope you enjoy.

"_Sex is emotion in motion."_ - Mae West


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is meant to fit in during the latter half of season three, episode: "I aint a Judas." Specifically after Andrea and Milton chopped off the arms of the walker she used as protection on her journey to the prison - but before they came across Tyresse's group in the forest.

**Warnings:** Contains season three spoilers, references to Milton's background, adult language, possible consent issues, and mature content. And well, smut.

**Statistical Improbabilities**

_**Chapter Eight**_

He grunted and dug his thumbs into her hip bones, minutely registering the delicate taper of her innominate as it sloped down towards the pubis. It was a strange mixture of strength and yielding softness as he palmed the length of her thigh, using his strength to supplement hers as she wobbled, nearly losing her balance as her spine curled, one hand buried in her folds as she rose and fell on top of him.

A garbled sound escaped her lips. It could have been his name. Either way, he surged up in response, soothing her lips with his as the acrid sweetness of fresh blood slicked across his tongue. It clung to the corners of their lips in thin strands as they pulled apart, their breathing ragged and downright feral as she nipped his chin, drawing him back into her as his cock bumped against her cervix.

The sensation made them hiss in pleasure as she convulsed around him, muscles rippling as he used her distraction to his advantage. His wide palms dwarfed the span of her hips as he lifted her up, muscles trembling with the strain as he eased her until only the tip remained inside, teasing her slit for a few breathless moments before he let her slide back down. She welcomed him back with an appreciative moan and a muted curse as his fingers dipped towards her center, smearing her juices across the span of her thighs in inert fascination, his expression unguarded and almost smug as he offered his finger up for her to taste.

She barely hesitated – and before long it was_ him_ that was cursing. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek in an effort to control himself as that lithe little tongue curled around his index finger, eagerly chasing her own flavor as her breasts heaved, swaying as the rhythm slowly devolved until they were rocking together. Their limbs tangled as her arm curled around his neck, drawing him in impossibly closer as her teeth grazed across the arc of his throat.

And when finally she kissed him, he swore he could still taste her on his tongue.

It was around the point where she changed the angle and tightened around him that he figured he might have to rethink the whole voluntary celibacy thing, because this was - _christ_- like nothing else.

Truth be told, he didn't remember much after that.

Because as the sensations mounted, spear-headed by that desperate, unmistakable burn that comes seconds before release, _that_ was where experience failed him. He didn't know what to do, what she expected or what she wanted him to-

His hips stuttered, nerves electric as he shuddered before the fall, too far gone to care how he must look – how feral and just _gone_ – with his hair slicked back, skin dirt-streaked and glistening as he lost the rhythm in favor of surging up almost frantically. Static filmed the edges of his vision as he nearly upset them both, forcing her to anchor herself against the tree for balance as she tried to distract him with a lingering kiss.

But it was no good, because if there was a pinnacle, some elusive plateau he was hoping to reach, he just couldn't seem to get there.

And like a predator sensing weakness in her prey, she _pounced_. Using all the knowledge he _didn't_ possess as she did something impossible with her hips, something had made him nearly_ howl_ as his balls drew up tight, slapping wetly against her ass as her nails broke skin. Searing down into the meat of his shoulders as his arms wrapped tight around her waist, lost amidst the echoes of his own whimpers as pleasure, white-hot and unstoppable, winged up his spine.

He didn't care how he sounded, how desperate or weak. He was too far gone, stripped of all the barriers, all the social niceties and inherent awkwardness that had once held him back. He was so desperate for it now that he ploughed forward, forgetting himself completely as he jerked up again and again - the thrusts were brutal and rough as she dripped around him, slicking his shaft and sack with her fluids with every stroke.

"That's it…" she hissed, her voice pleasure-wrecked and uneven. But he barely heard her.

Because he could feel her, every inch, every _atom_ that spanned the distance between his flesh and hers, the smooth glide, the slight trembling that occurred just before her inner muscles tightened around him and she slammed back down. …_Everything._

_Ah-ah-jesus!_

It wouldn't be until later that he'd realized that his mind had drawn a blank on everything save for the string of moments that played out before the fall. Like the moment where she'd bottomed out unexpectedly, her startled cry piercing through the air as she clenched around him - only seconds away from the grating static as an overwhelming spark of need suddenly overtook him.

The tension was almost unbearable, forcing him to muffle his cry into the flush of his forearm, feeling just shy of _demented_ as he left the imprints of his canines across the underside of his wrist. His blunt nails scored deep into the flaking bark as a desperate little mewl rose up from the back of his throat - inadvertently mixing pain with pleasure as his cock throbbed, his entire body tensing as he grabbed her by the hips and wrenched her up, jump-starting the rhythm with one of his own design. Hungry and desperate for something he didn't even know how to ask for as the first waves of his orgasm hit him like a god damned train wreck.

_Faster! He needed her to-_

Later, he might remember the overwhelming thud of his pulse and the worrisome catch in his breathing. Moments where all there _was_, all he could_ feel, _was the sensation of dried leaves and muddy soil giving away underneath him, crushed inside the meat of his palms as his filthy hands dug deep into the mouldering soil, desperate for something, _anything,_ to hold on to as she clenched around him and sent him blasting off into subspace. The pitching swan song of dying frequencies echoed in his ears as he tipped his head back – fingers digging into the bark as his hips arced upwards. Brutal and providential all at the same time as her sudden, pleasured cry cut through the blanket of fog that surrounded his higher brain functions and sent his heart rate soaring.

He gasped into the curve of her neck. This was it; he was going to-_fuck!_

And when he came, balls drawing up so tight he nearly choked, he collected what was left of his wits and mashed his knuckle down across her clit. Feeling more than hearing the reverberations of her pleasured scream as it echoed through their conjoined flesh the second before the entire world exploded into a muted sheen of dark grey static and off-centered light.

And for a long moment there was nothing. Caught up in a place where pleasure and bliss expanded outward like a dying star, until it was just him, her and - _the moment_.

It wasn't until the muffled rhythm of their heartbeats began thrumming through the forest quiet that he realized he was still breathing - having sworn that he'd actually forgotten how only a few seconds before as he sucked in a ragged gasp of air. His skin was still tingling with the remnants of his orgasm as he slumped against the trunk at his back, feeling the rough bark dig into the divots of his spine as he supported her weight, their arms tangling as her breasts rose and fell against his chest.

He panted into the aftermath, feeling drowsy and strangely sated as he slipped out of her, his cock spent and twitching as she collapsed against his legs. Her blond hair trickled down the span of his thighs as she settled against him, her back propped up against his knees as she turned over and arranged him how she saw fit.

He blinked. His limbs felt lethargic and heavy, rubbery even, like he'd been sitting in the sun for hours. It was the type of feeling that went bone deep, pulling a contented yawn from deep in his throat as he closed his eyes and settled back against the tree – content to let the moment breathe.

And as awareness slowly returned, he was surprised to realize that it was nothing like he'd expected - the sex, the climax, _her. _It was nothing like the handful of moments he'd used to spend in the shower, usually after a long and particularly frustrating day in the lab - satisfying himself with his own hand and an overly generous dollop of shower gel. Helping himself along, as it were, as he flushed the frustration out of his system in a way nature had fully intended.

But it had been nothing like this. Not even close.

_This_ was like tripping head first into the middle of a forty car pile-up and blasting off into the atmosphere all at the same time. _This_ was like drowning in the middle of the desert or managing to achieve a chemical reaction with inert materials. It was impossible and good and frightening and a thousand other things he didn't have in him to name.

His head lolled, drunk and loose in all the right ways as he slowly came down. The afternoon breeze felt cool and welcome on his sweaty forehead as he tipped back his head and sighed, feeling flushed and strangely bold as his eyes roved across the clearing. It didn't hurt to be cautious after all.

His hand hovered indecisively above her arm, all freckle-flecked and lightly tanned as she melted into the curve of his side - wanting to touch but not quite daring to as she slung herself over him, overly-familiar and easy as her fingers traced the freckles that trickled across his left flank.

It was something he admired about her, her boldness. She did what she wanted, when she wanted and made no apologies for it. She was a survivor, empowered and capable. But it was more than that. There was a strength to her that was different from the kind that Phillip possessed. Her strength was cleaner and far more malleable. More likely to bend than break when put under pressure. She was the same, yet completely different all at the same time.

There was so much about her that he had left to learn!

Because the truth was that he wanted_ everything_ she'd so easily taken from him. He wanted to capture one of those loose curls and crush it in his palm. He wanted to feel the texture and test the spring. He wanted to explore the softness of her skin and trace the arc of her hips with his tongue. He wanted to know her _better_ than she knew herself and _well_ - he wanted it _all_.

He didn't believe in fate or destiny, not in soul mates, divine intervention, god or even hell. He believed in what he could see. In what was tangible and accessible. He believed, _no_, he put his _faith_ in science. He looked for cold, hard facts and found truth in the formulas of action and reaction, theory and progress. For the good or ill, at the end of the day, he rarely took anything on faith. But now, strangely enough, he thought that given time, he could come to believe in _her._

But all that would have to wait.

"So, what did you think?" Andrea asked, leaning back with an air of supreme satisfaction as she rested herself against the span of his thighs, her muscles trembling with the aftershocks of her own climax as his skin buzzed, sated and overly sensitive as he sprawled across the prickly forest floor.

He cleared his throat. Hoping to hell that his voice wasn't going to crack as he ran his tongue across his lower lip, throat going dry all over again as she tipped her head upside down, bracing herself against the knobs of his knees as she sent him an easy, confident little smile. Her blond curls tumbled down his thighs until they melded together with the light, honey-brown hair that dotted his own skin, catching the light as it filtered down through the forest canopy.

He wasn't sure where the inspiration came from. But suddenly a rare smile spread across his lips. The corners curled upwards as he caught her gaze and threaded his fingers through her hair - his calloused pads alive with the twin sensations of softness and strength as he made to speak.

"…I think- I _might _need more data," he declared with a grin, making a show of thinking hard before he reached down and gathering her into his chest, finally succeeding at catching her by surprise as he brought her in for an awkward kiss. The kiss was a mess of sharp teeth and red-bitten lips as her nipples hardened against his chest – enough to make him regret eventually pulling away as he made to continue.

"You must understand that as a scientist you can_ never_ have too much data," he finished, tone husky and low before trailing off with a grunt as he fought for the upper hand and won - the words themselves nearly lost in the intervening moments as he rolled them into the long grass. He braced himself up on his elbows and leaned down to capture her lips as her breasts heaved prettily - pert and pink in the soft afternoon sun as her eyes went hooded with arousal.

And when she dug her hands into his hair and returned the favor, breathless and flushed as his cock stirred between the gentle clasp of her thighs, he muffled her laughter with his lips, taking her down into the tickling grass as somewhere in the distance the biter groaned.

* * *

**A/N #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Thank you for all your feedback and support over the course of this story, this is a tiny little dingy of a ship but your reviews and comments made it worthwhile to dabble in. I have another Andrea/Milton story in the works, so if you are interested, stay tuned!

"_Few are those who see with their own eyes and feel with their own hearts."_ - Albert Einstein


End file.
